It's All So Unpleasant
by everybreatheverymove
Summary: Prompt: "I haven't slept in four days." In which Dan comes back from a work trip, Amy's a total mess, and their apartment smells like absolute shit.


He arrives home a couple hours earlier than she expected him to, and he lies when he explains why. (It's totally because his flight was swapped, and definitely not because he wanted to get her into bed quicker - it's not like it's been two weeks or anything.)

There's a fancy duty-free shopping bag in one hand, and his suitcase is in the other. The case gets abandoned by the doorway as soon as he's entered their apartment though, and the giftbag is placed down on the kitchen counter with a slight thud (for later - he thinks. She looks like she could do with a little token of, what, appreciation? That sounds about right.)

The place smells like heated-up leftover Chinese food mixed with, well, something unholy, and Dan has to hold his breath as he takes her in. It's all so _unpleasant_.

"You look like hell, by the way."

He flings his coat over the rack, rubbing his hands up and down his sides to acclimate to the room's warm temperature.

Instead of retorting in the way she usually would, Amy just pulls a face. Her phone is by the kitchen sink, and it won't stop vibrating, but her sole focus is on his face.

"I haven't slept in four days, Dan." Her eyes widen, to help get her point across, and he's amazed that they even _can_ , "Four _fucking_ days. My head is literally going fall from my shoulders in exhaustion at this rate."

She's never been one to tire, or at least one to let fatigue get the better of her. Usually, she's on the ball; restless and relentless and always alert. Amy Brookheimer doesn't get tired, and yet-

Just how evil was their little brat?

"Then go fucking lie down."

Dan can only scowl at her, brows knitting together as he waves a hand about. It's not like he doesn't believe her. He's been told that babies are quite the handful, that they're like little monsters that toss and turn all night, wailing and whining and fucking- Okay. Breather time.

It's not that he doesn't believe her, it's just that he has a hard time believing she, of all people, could be worn-down. She's fucking _Amy_. Wasn't she born for this kind of shit (all-nighters and all that)?

"You say that, and yet I know I can't." She offers, arms dropping to her sides.

There's some kind of spit-up on the pocket of her floral blouse (a new purchase) that Dan has only just noticed, and he tries (and fails) to hide a grimace. "Why not?"

"Because I can't leave you with him."

"What?" Now he's confused. "Why the _fuck_ not?"

"Because you're," she doesn't quite get to the end of that thought before their kid is calling out for them from the bedroom. "You wanna take care of him?"

He shrugs, deciding that it's probably better than answering her with words. He looks around the open apartment, taking in the empty bottles on the coffee tables and full diaper bags on the kitchen counter. Shit, shit, shit- And, yeah, that's definitely _shit_.

"It can't be that hard."

The look she gives him then is anything but reassuring, and Dan's pretty sure he fucked up. Oh, well.

"Fine." She tosses him the dishtowel that hung over the back of the couch, "You wanna have a go? You go right ahead, Pops."

"Well, where the fuck are you gonna be?" You know, in case he, like, _needs_ her or something. (Not that he will. Because he's gonna have this whole thing under control in like five seconds tops, obviously.)

"In the bath, sleeping." Amy tells him, and there's a hint of amusement behind her eyes. "Hopefully I'll drown and be left in peace."

Fuck her, honestly.

Dan just shakes his head, heading down the hallway towards the master bedroom where the three-month old is still wailing away.

"Hey, bud."

He kind of wants to pick him up (because someone once told him that it's important to great a bond and, fuck yes, does he want his son to become his own personal mini-me.) But he's reluctant to hold the kid when he's all… shitty smelling.

"Oh, fuck."

The kid won't stop crying, and his little nose is runny, and Dan sorta regrets coming home early.

It's all so unpleasant, and shitty, and he doesn't remember signing up for any of this. He wouldn't trade it though - no, he _likes_ it too much.

"Daddy's home."


End file.
